More than ordinary
by Angelicheartbeats
Summary: It wasn't the right time in his life to accept being considered anything more than ordinary. Though, perhaps that's where he was wrong the whole time. Alfred was a better person than he'd ever be but life never did praise the good. [USUK, Angst, Character Death]


Arthur Kirkland was by no means a saint or even a good person at that. Sometimes he liked to think the little good deeds he did were enough to consider himself just a little bit nicer than the average person. Although, they were only mediocre things in the end but living by "every little helps" was enough to send him on his way. Never once in his life had he thought he was anything much more than ordinary. An average house, with an average job and an average income meant an average life. It never was anything special but nothing to complain about either.

He never had thought about settling down but he supposed he still had a couple years before he started worrying about getting married and having a children. Who was he kidding though? He hadn't dated anyone since he left high school and then it was only short-term relationships that never really worked out. Sometimes he considered the potential possibility of being the male equivalent of a crazy cat lady. However the idea of having that many felines in his house seemed like a lot of work. Just Scones was enough, he was a relatively quiet white and ginger scottish fold and he'd had him since he was a kitten. Though, he was getting rather old now and Arthur wasn't sure if he'd want to get another cat if Scones died. He didn't like to think about it. After all, Scones was the closest thing to a friend he had.

Well, except for Alfred.

Living next door, was a young man with dirty blond hair and sea blue eyes named Alfred Jones. Arthur wasn't sure if he quite considered him a friend but he was sure Alfred considered him one. He was always so bright and chirpy in the morning, Arthur wasn't even that happy in the morning after he'd had his tea so it must just be in his nature. Whenever he saw him, boy did he love to talk. Thinking back on it, Arthur knew enough about Alfred to consider him a friend. Never had he spoken to someone with such severe word vomit. He wondered if the over-enthusiastic man would ever ask him about his life. It wasn't that he wanted him in his life, it just seemed rather rude that he knew everything about him and he knew nothing about him.

It was to every last detail, he could tell someone enough about Alfred to be on one of those couples tv shows. He knew that his favourite colour was blue and he has a twin brother in Canada, he told him that burgers were his favourite food and never to eat spaghetti on a first date even if it seems like a romantic "lady and the tramp" style cliche because it is the most unattractive food you can eat. From the experiences he would sometimes mention, it didn't really surprise Arthur that Alfred was popular with the ladies. After all, he was tall, broad-shouldered and had a smile that could outshine the sun.

Despite all this, Arthur wasn't interested. He had every reason to fall in love with a guy like the American next door, especially seeing as he was just about as straight as a rainbow. He was funny, charming and definitely good looking.

Never once had he even thought about Alfred more than a friend. Arthur never could put his finger on why, maybe it was because he was dumb. Alfred was most certainly an idiot with a stupid grin on his face on summer mornings and had no sense of decency. Arthur's eyebrows would furrow as he tried to think of the reasons why he didn't like Alfred but it was some what difficult to pin-point them. He was obnoxious and loud, there was also the fact that he liked to call him "Artie" which was most definitely not his name. Even though he was all these things, they all made him just a little bit more endearing.

By no means was Arthur was a love expert but he could tell Alfred was flirting with him. Alfred was direct when it came to those sorts of things. Every now and again he'd lean over the fence between their houses and ask him if he wanted to catch a movie with him or join a couple friends for a drink. At first it was hard to believe he was even of legal age to drink. Sometimes he'd even invite him into his own house so they could do something together.

Alfred tried so hard to get closer to Arthur but every time - Arthur turned him down. Pushed it off as he was busy or he had work to do. There was no work to do, unless you counted watching whatever was on TV and stroking Scones who nestled quietly on his lap as work.

On the other side of the fence, Alfred waited patiently for the day his grumpy next-door neighbour would accept one of his offers. Even if he said the first "hello" to him, it would make his day. But the longer he waited, the more he began to doubt it'd ever happen. Alfred didn't understand what he was doing wrong, it wasn't supposed to happen like this. As far as he was concerned, he was as nice as a fairytale prince and Arthur was the perfect damsel in distress in a tall stone tower in a far away land. In fairytales, he and Arthur would be much more than friends right now, right? So maybe he wasn't the biggest romantic in the world but did such a thing exist?

Generally, Arthur was surprised that Alfred took rejection so well. Each time he rejected him and again, Alfred would be back leaning over his fence and asking him if he wants to grab a coffee with him today. Every time, Arthur would briefly consider it then tell him he doesn't like coffee and be on his way without so much as a goodbye. Alfred keeps his hands on the fence for a little while longer, to the point where Arthur notices and wonders if he ever gets splinters, before walking back inside his house.

He would be lying if he said he didn't feel a bit bad about it. Everything changed that one day Alfred added two words to the end of his request.

"Morning Artie," he began, leaning over the wooden fence as he does every other morning. It was steadily approaching noon on a Saturday in mid-June. Arthur turned to face the other man as he collected his mail. "I was gonna go see a movie later, I was wondering if you wanted to come. You know, as friends,"

Never once had Alfred implied an outing for friends when he had invited him somewhere.

Arthur looked down at the envelopes in his hands and then back at the beaming blond. He knew he had nothing to do today, it was a case of putting his feet up and relaxing with Scones like he did every Saturday since he didn't have work. There was something about those two words that made Arthur feel a little bit better about the offer. If it wasn't a date then he wasn't obligated to do anything romantic. Alfred would have to respect him and not lay any "smooth moves" on him.

"Sure, I don't have anything planned today," the words slipped out without a second thought. He wasn't sure if he'd regret it but when he saw Alfred perk up and his oceanic eyes light up, it was worth it.

He was more than thrilled to take Arthur to the movies with him, he wanted nothing more to hold his hand as they walked together, especially as his hands just hung by his sides. He wondered if they were soft and delicate or maybe they were rough and calloused from all the hard work he claims to be doing all the time. Alfred knew he couldn't, they were just friends after all. To solve his urge, he buried his own hands deep in the pockets on his jeans. He didn't usually wear dress shirts but he made the extra effort to make sure he dressed nice but not too formal and smelled good if he was going to be seen with Arthur.

Every time from then on, Alfred made sure to add "as friends" at the end of each requests, this time, every time Arthur accepted. He'd found a way to convince Arthur to go places with him. And one time, Arthur said hello to him first in the morning. The American could feel the butterflies in his gut desperately trying to free themselves. As he managed to get closer to his neighbour, he kept noticing more and more things he hadn't noticed before. Each one, was just as beautiful as the rest.

Sometimes they would have breakfast together, sometimes they could catch a movie or go out for a drink. Alfred was Arthur's best friend and Arthur didn't mind.

It was a cold evening in mid-September that Arthur went to get up off Alfred's couch but he was stopped by a hand around his wrist. He turned around to look at the American who was wearing a rather serious expression.

"Please stay," he said quietly. His fingers were a little shaky around his wrist. "Spend the night,"

"Alfred I-"

"Please." It was enough for Arthur to give in and sit back down on the couch so Alfred released him. He didn't know why Alfred enjoyed his company so much, it wasn't like he was an extremely bright and cheery person. He thought that someone who was more like Alfred would get along better than he would. Maybe he was just taking what he could get. After all, Arthur wasn't anything more than ordinary and surely his friend must know and acknowledge this.

Arthur kept talking to Alfred that night. Like he had somewhat predicted, Alfred finally asked him to talk about himself instead. Arthur had never thought there was much to talk about when it came to his own life until that very day. Even if they were just little humourous school stories or his favourite TV show when he was 16, they were enough to keep Alfred happy and make him laugh. Arthur could only smile as his friend appreciated his company. Somewhere along the line, Arthur had supposed that in fact maybe he did appreciate his company too.

It didn't go any further than mindless chit chat that night. Alfred had let Arthur sleep in the spare room and made him pancakes for breakfast with a cup of tea. When did he learn? He recalled Alfred mentioning he couldn't make tea. He smiled at the American who sat across the table in the kitchen with him as he listened to him talk about his brother who was coming down from Canada in a couple weeks.

He wondered if he'd get to meet his brother and if he would see the resemblance. He expected to, he'd seen some of the pictures in Alfred's house of a boy who looked similar to what he guessed was Alfred as a child. When the blond had noticed him staring at them, he quickly took him away or pushed the photo frames down flat then proceeded to get flustered. Maybe he was just embarrassed about him seeing pictures of him as a kid. In a way, that was rather cute. Arthur didn't keep any pictures of him as a child around in his house. There were probably some locked away in a photo album that his mother had left to him in her will but any others would probably be at his brother's house. He didn't visit them much so he didn't have to be reminded of how big his eyebrows looked in proportion to his face as a child. Not that he didn't sometimes notice that when he looked in the mirror these days, but it was less obvious or at least that was what he liked to think. After all, Alfred never said anything about it and he was loud and obnoxious so it couldn't be that bad.

It had been a good decision to become friends with Alfred, he mused. He was a good friend to him and it made waking up every morning a little more exciting even if he didn't like to admit it. He liked Alfred but Alfred was just a friend.

That wasn't going to change.

Above all, that was the worst decision he ever made. It was approaching December quickly. Arthur's hands were wrapped around a warm cup of tea as he looked out of his window at the house next door. It was only partially open but that was enough to feel the cool winter breeze. He watched as a blond man picked up boxes and carried them to his car. The same oceanic blue eyes and glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. But whenever he turned around to meet his gaze, if only for a split second, he knew it wasn't Alfred.

Desperately, he wanted to say something, anything, but there was nothing he could say. His fingers only tightened around the cup in his hands. He didn't know how long he was there or at what point his tea went disgustingly cold. What a terrible decision he had made.

Alfred had tried to kiss him a month ago. His breath mingled close to his but Arthur pushed him away and refused. After that day, things started heading back to square one. He knew he was aging but Arthur wasn't ready for a relationship, he wasn't ready for Alfred to tell him that he was anything more than ordinary. Above all, he wasn't ready to let go of this friendship. Alfred had asked him why and Arthur didn't know what to say except for a mumbled set of apologies.

And he regretted it.

Maybe if he could turn back time, Arthur would've accepted his first date request from over the fence. Then maybe he could have kissed him and felt how warm his lips would be upon his. He wanted more than anything else as he watched the boxes be loaded into that shiny blue car than to know what it would have been like to date Alfred. He stared at that car, parked outside Alfred's house. It was his favourite colour. Even though what happened was neither Alfred's or Arthur's fault, Arthur's heart was heavy with regret.

Now those lips are cold, there was no warm breath to linger near his own and no broad-shoulders man to embrace him and tell him what he should feel no sorrow for what he did because it wasn't his fault. He hadn't found the words to say when he held his strong hand; coated in red. But he had told him that his hands were softer than he expected.

That was the moment that Arthur acknowledged that Alfred thought he was more than ordinary and he regretted not realising it sooner. He wished he could stop dwelling on this.

"Arthur," the voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He watched the man who had been moving the boxes push up his window. In his hands was a smaller box than the rest. On the front was his name scrawled in unfamiliar handwriting. "This is for you. I'm going to be on my way now,"

Arthur nodded as the man left, leaving the box on his windowsill. He got in the shiny blue car and drove in the other direction. He placed the cold tea to one side as he took the box into his home. He spared one glance at the deserted house next door with the for sale sign. Quietly, he shut the window and put the box on the floor. He sat down and opened it up. Inside was a small journal along with some envelopes and pictures of Arthur that he didn't know Alfred had. When had these been taken? It seemed almost borderline stalkerish and creepy until he read the cute little messages on the back of the photographs. Each envelope was addressed to him but the paper inside was torn and scribbled on. Sometimes he could make out a sorry or two from behind the pen scribbles.

Next, he got to the journal. He opened it carefully, reading through some of the dates. He felt his own breath hitch at the sight of his name.

Arthur didn't know when he started crying or when he managed to stop - or if he ever did. He hadn't longed for the touch of the American next door as much as he did that very moment. That moment he would have given anything to see the light in those sea blue eyes, the vivid image of the light being taken away from them still etched deep in his subconscious.

The accident had happened two weeks ago and it felt like moments ago he was getting excited for Christmas. Telling him that he was going to buy him the best present ever even if things were awkward between them. He had laughed and told him he didn't need to make the effort. Arthur glanced sideways at the tightly wrapped present with a ribbon on the coffee table that would never get to see that stupid grin on Alfred's face that somewhere along the line he had learnt to love.

Sometimes the unpredictable is the inevitable, Arthur had thought. Of all people in the world, the criminals, the people who lie and cheat and even the once considered average people like Arthur Kirkland, life took away something precious instead. Alfred Jones didn't deserve such an end after all. There was nothing Arthur regretted more than not giving him that he deserved - at least something happy to end with. Even if it was just a kiss. He wondered if anyone else would move in next door and if he would bear to be able to see them lean over the fence to say hello in the morning.

Arthur Kirkland was by no means a saint or even a good person at that. That's what he had always thought. He told himself never to think that because there was always somebody out there who disagreed. It was just a pity he lost that person but the fact would always remain that there once was somebody.

There was somebody who thought he was more than ordinary.


End file.
